


Lux in Tenebris

by Hnybnny



Series: Unexpected Hero [3]
Category: AdventureQuest Worlds
Genre: Gen, The Seraphic Paladins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 13:10:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hnybnny/pseuds/Hnybnny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am the epitome of death. The time of purification is at hand.</p><p>(A fanwork that largely follows the Dage vs Laken saga, with a few added surprises)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

‘Excuse me… Ah, oops, sorry! Don’t mind me just, excuse me! Excuuuuse me! Gah, sorry, 'scuse me!’ The man hurried through the throngs of people on Main Street, bumping into many and throwing apologies left and right as he went. He was on a mission, with a crumpled note clutched in his hand. His brow was furrowed in determination as his boots thumped rhythmically against the flagstones. The amount of people in Northpointe deeply worried him; refugees were still flooding in, mostly from the north , and the man wondered just how much more the city could hold. They couldn’t just turn people away though; that would be practically sending them to their deaths. Northpointe was one of the few safe havens left in the world.

The man nearly stumbled as he bumped violently into someone with his shoulder, so deep in thought was he, and he was about to hurriedly apologize (once again) as he caught himself when an angry outburst was spat at him from the rather angry resident. The man’s head snapped around as he meant to throw back a strongly worded retort, but he was still moving forwards. 'Why, I oughta- oof!’

His comeback was cut short as he ran straight into what felt like a brick wall. It didn’t sound like one though; replying with an 'oof’ of its own.

Caught very much off guard, the man stumbled (… again) and this time fell, flat on his back.

'Ugh…’ He groaned, rubbing the back of his head that had ungracefully cracked against the stone street.

'Seems like someone was in a hurry.’ The voice above him chided, and a shining armored hand came into his wavering vision. The man clasped it and was then easily helped, though more like lifted, up by the other.

'Sorry, Guardian Magnus… hard to pay attention in these crowds.’ The man rubbed his head again, checking and double checking for any possible blood. He seemed fine enough, but it would leave a hell of a bump come next morning. He looked up at the other. Magnus Steel was a tall but lightly built man, with dark skin, swept back auburn hair and a glorious goatee (The assisted man would kill to be able to grow facial hair like that). Magnus was dressed in dulling pewter armor; chainmail and thick clothing was layered underneath for protection both from enemies and the biting chill of Northpointe.

'It’s fine, RivenTree, just as long as you are alright. Took a nasty tumble, you did. I understand the crowds; more refugees come flooding in every day from the north.’ The Guardian of Northpointe shook his head with a sigh, clearly exasperated. He released the others hand and shifted slightly; his hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword.

Flash RivenTree rubbed the remaining stars from his eyes and pulled a face. 'I’d say! Think we could repave the roads with something softer, like pillows?’

'Not at all.’

'Well, still an excellent idea in my opinion.’ He shrugged, the note still tightly held in his hand. He ran his other gloved hand through his light brown hair, meticulously styled as it was every morning. It took a lot of effort to purposefully make hair look just the right amount of messy.

Bright purple eyes looked down at Flash and then to the paper expectantly. 'Is that the reason for your hurry?’ The Guardian asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, pointedly staring at the man’s hand.

Flash stared back blankly.

There was a few moments of awkward silence as Flash continued staring. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head before he suddenly had a metaphorical light bulb pop up above his head. ‘Oh! This old thing?’ He held up the crumpled note with a sheepish grin.

He was a haberdasher, not a rocket scientist… or any other occupation that required a large amount of intelligence.

‘It’s just a note. Well, not just a note. A very important note from a very important person, for a very important woman! Speaking of, have you see our famed hero around anywhere? This is first class, has-to-be-delivered-right-now mail.’ Flash gave Magnus A Look and waved his hand as if to emphasize his point.

‘No, I don't believe I have, so she must still be at home...’ Magnus replied, ‘But, if I may ask-‘

‘Nope, you may not! As I said, VERY important mail!’ Flash had cut him off and was gone sprinting down the western street in a flash before Magnus could even process what in the Avatars’ names had just happened.

The Guardian watched him go, a sigh of exasperation once again on his lips. Oh, RivenTree. How do you even manage?

 


	2. The Note

The sound of battle was deafening.

But in a way, it was beautiful. The orchestrated cacophony of war, played in a never ending cycle since the dawn of time. It was the oldest song in the universe, hauntingly elegant in its macabre rhythm.

The thunder of boots against the ground, locked in a constant tempo likened to a heartbeat; the clash and clang of steel against steel- or the muffled squelch that came when it met flesh instead. The splash of blood on stone, like thick raindrops pattering against a window. The thump of falling bodies, like the beat of a war drum. The moans of the wounded. The screams of the dead. The pleas of mercy, begging for quarter; it sounded to her like a chorus of angels from up on high, preaching both forgiveness and damnation. But her answer was the crescendo, a caressed cheek and a soft whisper bestowing empty promises upon her people.

_Her people._

Eyes half-lidded with blood gazed up into her own; dead green slits that were once bright with adventure and life, but now were as empty as the cavity in her chest that once held her soul, before it was ripped out and crushed.

_Her people._

How could she do this?! the _pathetic_ voice weakly begged. She smiled, baring sharp fangs. Oh, that voice, how she used to love it. Excitement used to grow in her heart whenever she heard it, knowing another battle, another adventure, was close at hand. But now it was nothing more than _grating_.

She stood up from where she kneeled in His holy blood, and cocked her head. She should have done this a _long_ time ago.

She raised up His axe above her head, the pleas growing louder and louder, and began to bring it down when-

‘Eeeeew, _Daiymooooooo_!’ 

Daeris groaned sleepily, lightly shoving away the dark-furred Pomeranian that was intent on slobbering all over her as his form of a wake-up kiss. She rolled over in the bed, but Daiymo nimbly leaped over her form and was on the other side of her; quickly going back to licking her face.

‘That is _so_ gross…’ Daeris muttered, scrunching up her face and enduring the slopping wet kisses from her Mirror Realm pet.

After a few more agonizingly slow moments, Daiymo was finally content with the amount of love he had laid upon his owner, and barked once at Daeris before jumping off the bed and pattering off to the kitchen. With another drawn-out groan, Daeris flopped over onto her stomach and sighed. Sunlight streamed in through the room’s sole window, blinding her as she blinked against the bright light.

She shoved the memories of her nightmare out of her head, not wanting to reflect on what it could mean. She had already done that. It was the same memory almost every night, but with a different person that fell beneath her blade. A different friend. _This was the first time it had been Artix, though_ , a small voice whispered in the back of her head. _There has to be meaning to that._

Daeris crushed that voice beneath her mental heel.

She sluggishly got out of bed and stood, shivering at the sudden loss of blankets. The stone floor was freezing against her bare feet. Better get dressed quick then, she thought to herself and slowly padded to her closet. But she stopped in front of the floor length mirror standing in a corner of her near-empty room, gazing upon her reflection as she approached it.

The hero hardly recognized herself anymore.

Her face was gaunt and even paler than usual, crisscrossed with freshly healed scars and new wounds that had barely scabbed over. The collection of purple scales on her cheeks were scratched and dulled, and there were more scars where a few were obviously missing- painfully removed one way or another. Daeris ran her fingers over them lightly and shuddered. Her cheekbones jutted out and dark bags lurked under her eyes, giving her even more of a gaunt, almost undead appearance.

_But wasn’t she technically undead?_

Oh. Right. She was. Dragging herself out of the Underworld with Nulgath’s help hadn’t actually restored her to life; only returning her to the land of the living. A rather important clause the Archfiend had coincidentally _failed_ to mention, of course. 

Her hands then went up to her horns; grey and wickedly curved, but notched and scratched all over. They jutted out from under her eternally messy brown hair, or at least, one did. A sudden sense of longing filled the dragon woman as her fingers brushed over the jagged stump where her right horn used to be, brutally broken off by Drakath in return for her hacking off one of his wings. An eye for an eye, she supposed. Daeris sighed as she stared harder at her reflection, eyes catching on the sharp, jagged scar directly over her heart that branched off with dark purple veins across her chest. The sole (or should she say soul) reminder of when Drakath had slain her, reaching in and ripping out her soul, just like he had done to Sepulchure all that time ago. Well, that and being dead. That was a preeeetty big reminder.

More sets of equally purple scales were scattered across her body, and were shinier than the ones on her face. Two sets of large, dark wings sprouted from her back; one set was her beloved dragon wings that she had had since birth, the other were the feathered wings of Death that she had gained after completing Nulgath’s contract. They were one reason her room, and house itself, was so bare. With wings that large, it was ridiculously easy to knock things over. It had been a few months and Daeris was still not adjusted to her new pair of wings. Daeris frowned, and idly flapped them once. A few long feathers fluttered slowly to the floor. Her eyes traced down the rest of the mirror, having already memorized the rest of the scars that littered her tall, lithe body.

A sudden series of knocks at the door diverted her attention, and she exhaled deeply as she turned away from the mirror.

‘Just a moment!’ She yelled across her small house, hoping she was heard above Daiymo’s loud yapping. Hurriedly she pulled on pants and a basic brown tunic, lacing them both up before dashing to the door. She took a moment to run her fingers through her hair (not that it made much of a difference, she was cursed with eternal bedhed), before nudging Daiymo out of the way and opening the door.

‘Oh! Hey, Flash. Kinda early, isn’t it, to be beating people’s doors down?’ 

Flash Riventree stood in front of her in his normal and extremely green attire, a grin on his face. ‘It is past noon, Daeris…’ He said, slightly confused.

‘Is it _really_? Well, I didn’t notice. I was asleep.’ The woman shrugged. ‘Anyways, what brings you to my humble abode?’

‘Important delivery!’ Flash chirped, and held out the crumpled note. 

Daeris stared with a frown, taking the letter from his hand and attempting to flatten it against her knee. ‘No offense, but if this is how you deliver ‘important’ mail, you’d be a terrible mailman.’ She turned and walked back into the house, inviting Flash in with a wave over her shoulder. He strode inside and shut the door, crouching a moment to scratch Daiymo behind the ears.

‘Some gentleman just gave it to me when I was opening up my shop for the day; he said that it was of the utmost importance and must be delivered as soon as possible!’ He started, trying to hide his eagerness to know what the note held.

‘Huh, weird… what’d he look like?’ Daeris asked, turning towards him.

‘Not a clue! He was cloaked and had his face hidden, but he had a weird insignia on his glove. Never seen anything like it.’

Making a questioning noise in the back of her throat, Daeris passed him a scrap of paper and a stump of graphite. Flash made a few quick motions with his hand, then held it up for the other to see.

<l>

She stared at the simple mark for a few moments, before taking the paper from him and shoving it in her pocket for later. She might need it, she thought as she shook her head. ‘Weird, I dunno what it is either. Might be time for some research-.’

‘Well, enough with that! What does the note say?’ Flash said, unable to contain his excitement any longer.

‘Oi! Patience, patience…’ Daeris muttered, and read silently to herself. It was a short note; giving only a hint of information, and a location. Something about being in distress. A great danger. She reread, and reread it again.

‘It’s… a plea for help. From someone called ‘ _Grand Master Adventus_ ’...’ She squinted at the paper.

There was a pause.

‘Is… is that it?’ Flash said helplessly, cocking his head in confusion.

‘Apparently.’ Daeris said simply. ‘And it’s stamped with the same symbol that you saw- guess it’s some sort of organization that needs my help.’ She sighed. ‘ _Again._ ’

And _just_ when she thought she was getting a break, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter our beloved (and deeply traumatized) hero... Daeris. She's my own personal dragon-y hero, and I'll be writing a lot more about her in stories to come. She's got some issues. Thanks for that, Drakath. Kiss kiss.
> 
> Tried to cut this a bit short, as this is still pretty much a precursor chapter. Haven't even gotten to the Seraphs yet, and that's where all the action is, right? ;3c
> 
> If there's any confusion, in the beginning I was writing her as being the [redacted] of Chaos, in all her murderous glory. Insert shrug emote here.


	3. The Arrival

The sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon as the hero approached, painting the evening sky a bloody orange-red, with the purples of the night slowly creeping up. A few dark clouds steadily crawled across the sky and lent to the ominous atmosphere that hung suffocatingly around the valley. Towering trees cast dark, crooked shadows across the path and seemed to almost reach for the walking figure, wanting to draw her back into the darkness.

Daeris swallowed hard as she strode across the gradually darkening path, lit only by the fading sunlight and a few scattered torches. ‘Whoever’s the gardener around here should really be fired…’ She mused to herself, eyeing the rotting wood planks littering the overgrown grassy areas around the road. The place was obviously meant to be hidden; being placed in a valley hidden by all sorts of plant life, and took Daeris hours to find even though she had been given the location. Hence why it was nearly night now.

The place itself was obviously a fortress; made of worn pale brick with gold accents that lined the walls reflected the bright torchlight, and cobalt colored roofs on the towers that each tapered into a sharp point. As she approached, she spotted a man pacing back and forth in front of the large battle-worn oaken doors. He was tall, with striking, slicked back red hair and armor unlike anything Daeris had ever seen. It had clearly seen as much battle as the doors the man stood in front of; with deep gouges all across the gold and ashen metals. A few red belts crisscrossed his arms and torso, and keeping them together were shining golden buckles that bore the same insignia Flash had shown her earlier in the week. A crisp scar was gouged across his nose, and an odd tattoo; two black bars, lay above his right eye. She would have examined him further (way to be creepy, hero) but the man looked up, finally noticing her, and smiled welcomingly as Daeris closed the distance between them.

What struck her first was his eyes. They screamed Shadowsycthe. The sclera was pitch black, and his irises were a dark crimson red not unlike his hair. They seemed to not hide any menace that often came with the signature eyes of Empress Gravelyn’s forces, but she could not be sure. She decided not to stereotype, because maybe this man wasn’t evil and just had some weird eye disease. Yeah, a disease. that seemed about right. Another sudden popped into her head. Why was she freaking on whether or not this guy was Shadowscythe? Wasn’t SHE Shadowscythe? Oh yeah. She was.

‘Welcome! I take it you received my Master’s letter for help?’ He asked suddenly to shake her out of her stupor, standing in parade rest with a friendly smile still on his face.

‘Uh, yeah, I did. But it was kinda really vague about what exactly was in distress. Another cliche evil? Some dark force? Your cat got stuck in a tree? I have no idea, and I’d really like to know.’ Daeris said, attempting to break the ice and disguise the awkwardness of staring at his face for like 3 minutes..

The man chuckled. ‘I’d love to tell you, but we don’t have much time to go into detail. I’ll try to explain as I go, hero.’ He turned on his heel and threw open the large doors, the lack of effort involved making Daeris smirk and raise an eyebrow. Nice.

She followed him into the looming archway, as he began to talk as they walked through the high-roofed corridors, etched with various detailed scenes of battle, men and women locked in conflict with armored undead, that took Daeris’ breath away. The murals were clearly cracked and worn, with paint peeling off in various areas, but that did not retract from the harshness of battle that was shown.

‘My name is Darkon. I represent an ancient Order; the Seraphic Paladins. We have long been charged with keeping Lore safe from powerful Evils.’

Daeris internally groaned. Cliche powerful evils. Of course. Wasn’t it always? Fantastic. Just… fantastic. And of course paladins were involved. Ugh.

‘However…’ Darkon’s voice lowered slightly, which she noted dutifully. ‘In recent years, we have not been as successful as we wish.

Scoffing, the Hero crossed her arms. ‘Tell me about it. The Underworld invasion, the Undead Army attacks, the fact that Sepulchure existed…’ She counted on her fingers as she listed them off. ‘I never saw any of your Order, and you’d better believe I could have used some extra blades a few times!’

Darkon did not disagree, and waved a hand. ‘And there you have it. We need your help to repair the Seraphs.’ They had stopped in front of another pair of doors, much smaller than the first. ‘Something…’ He seemed troubled, but then continued, ‘Is not right here. It did not used to be this way, that’s why we need your help.’

Daeris was about to make a remark about she always had to go fixing other people’s problems, but bit it back when she looked at Darkon closely. He did seem deeply unsettled, and concerned for the fate of the Order he was part of. Darkon stared at her expectantly.

She sighed.

‘Alright, what do I need to do?’

The paladin’s grin widened. Did this man ever stop smiling? She hoped not. It was vaguely reassuring in a way, but made her feel like she had to go dragon kick a baby just to feel manly again.

‘Find out what darkness lurks inside our home.’ He started, beginning to pace once again. ‘Perhaps… perhaps, if you were to pretend to be a new recruit - You would have a plausible excuse for asking questions and meeting people. One of our most trusted knights, Thomas, will act as your sponsor.’ He paused for a moment and turned to her. His voice dropped even lower. ‘Once you discover something - ANYTHING - of interest or concern, return back to me.’

‘Got it, bro.’ Daeris nodded solemnly.

‘Good. However, it is late- you may not be able to accomplish much tonight. You may retrieve your recruit armor from Thomas; he should be in the armory. He can answer any more questions you may have.’ Darkon finished, and crossed his arms.

‘Okay… sounds like a lot, but I’ll get to the root of all this, I promise you.’ Daeris said with determination. These people needed her help urgently, and she could not let them down at any cost.

‘I hope so, hero… You seem like our only hope at this point.’ The man sighed.

‘That’s not a lot of pressure on me at _all_.’ The hero said snarkily.

Darkon only laughed, but then turned serious and stared solemnly to her, a hint of fear flickering in his dark eyes. ‘Good luck to you, and may the angels light your path.’

With those parting words, the commander turned heel and walked off down one of the dim corridors, leaving Daeris alone in the flickering torchlight.


	4. The Infiltration

In short, she felt extremely uncomfortable.

The armor Thomas gave her fit well enough, but that wasn’t the problem. Daeris didn’t belong here, and she knew it- she was a spy, trying to seek out other spies. She reassured herself slightly with the thought that it was for a good cause, and she was seventy-eight percent sure she wasn’t being led on by this Darkon fellow. Sighing, Daeris placed the recruit helmet atop her head and then stopped.

Shit. She forgot about her horns.

Swearing under her breath, the hero placed the helmet back on her bed and hoped that the armor would be enough. It felt clunkier than what she normally wore, and the color scheme was  _ definitely _ not something she’d wear to a Swordhaven fashion show. A swift glance in the mirror later, and Daeris strode out the doorway, anxiety sprouting in her breast. She tried to follow Thomas’ advice,  _ “Act like you belong here” _ , but it was easier said than done. As she passed by the other recruits in the hallway she gave each a nod in greeting, which thankfully they returned. She was on an exploration ‘mission’ from her sponsor, with the goal of getting her sense of this place. It was rather confusing, but the walk gave her a better idea of just how much the Seraphic Order must be suffering. Marble that once must have shone was dull and crumbled at the edges, and long marks were etched into the wall- delivered by many a variety of blade in battles long past. 

She was halted in her adventure by a tall oaken door. Daeris hesitated to open it, but it made no difference for it just would not budge, even as the hero nearly threw her shoulder out trying to un-budge it. With a huff and a puff, she turned back the way she came and began the trek back to the main entrance where Thomas awaited her. 

_ “Have you received our orders?” _ The hushed whisper sounded upon Daeris’ sensitive ears, and she quickly flattened herself behind a pillar, out of sight of the two Paladins walking her way, sharing in what must be a very secretive discussion. They glanced side to side before continuing, but Daeris was well-hidden. Hidden enough, at least.

_ “Yes… Sent by Envy. Does Lord Dage think our mission low enough that he will not give us word himself?” _

Daeris quickly sucked in air through her teeth, trying to smush herself closer into the shadows. Dage… Oh, Avatars, was  _ that _ the darkness Darkon was talking about? Shit. And to think, she had just had a mug of moglinberry juice with the Dark Overlord not but a week ago… Ah, the life of an Evil-aligned hero. A mental prayer of forgiveness went through the hero’s mind before she leaped out of her hiding spot, shadows revealing a very angry draconic woman. She clocked the leftmost recruit in the jaw and he went down with a dull thud- Daeris prided herself in her punch- as his companion attempted to draw a dagger. Close, but not close enough as Daeris elbowed the opponent in his wrist, the joint unprotected by armor, and he gasped in pain. The weapon clattered to the ground, too loud for her tastes, before Daeris managed to get the recruit in a chokehold.

“Now, tell me what you-  _ oo _ f!”

The recruit returned the favor with a sharp elbowing of his own to her stomach, and Daeris doubled over. He followed with a knee to the face, a sharp crack was the surefire sign of a broken nose which he was surely going for, and the hero hit the floor next to the unconscious form of the other recruit. Her breaths were shallow, and blood dribbled down her cheek onto the white floor. A boot was placed unforgivingly on the side of her head, pressing her down and making her much more familiar with the ground- it really was quite dirty-, as its owner leaned down towards her ear. “Tell you what  _ now _ ?”

“Tell me why-” Daeris gasped, pausing and glancing up at the visor that blocked her view of her opponent. “-you weren't expecting  _ this _ !” With the hand not pinned under her body, Daeris drew her own dagger from her waist and buried it deep into the man’s ankle, in between a gap in the small plates of armor. He howled loudly in pain, falling to the floor, flat on his ass. Daeris wiped the blood from her face messily, and kicked the recruit in the face. “No one touches this pretty face, jackass.” She muttered, kneeling down to his level. “As I was saying…”

She grinned, and removed the helmet that revealed the trademark glowing blue eyes of those loyal to Dage the Evil. “ _ Tell me what you know _ .”

  
  
  


Blood smeared the marble floor in a large puddle as Daeris walked away from the crime scene, as calm as could be. As calm as someone who just stabbed two people, that is. She knew that leaving them alive would bring no luck to her, so she left each with a makeshift dagger-holder in their skulls. She’d let Thomas clean up the mess while she did whatever he wanted her to do next. A minute or so later she arrived back at where she had began, and nodded to Thomas, who gave her a half-concerned, half-terrified look.    
  


“Ignore the blood. I got what you needed- Dage the Evil sent some minions to infiltrate your Order, and figure out how to take it down.” Daeris stated, rocking back on her heels.

“Hmmm. I'm concerned by what you've discovered. Very concerned…” Thomas trailed off, pacing back and forth across the room, the hero’s eyes following him step by step. Stopping suddenly, he glanced up. “Have you any idea what they know?” 

Daeris reached into her pack, and revealed two rolled parchments of fabric, which she handed off to the man. “I found these scrolls on ‘em, along with the Legion sigil which I expected, but that’s… about it. She then shrugged.

Thomas glanced from her, then down to the scrolls, confusion masking the lower half of his features. “But… I don’t understand. Only members of the Order carry these scrolls, and they were certainly spies…” He trailed off once more and unfurled the scrolls, reading over them quickly as Daeris uncapped a health potion and drank the draught down. A few minutes later, Thomas sighed and rolled them back up, depositing them in a pocket. “These scrolls have changed since I last saw them! I wonder… just what else - or WHO else - has been altered while I've tried to keep us pure?”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all, pal.” Daeris ran a hand through ruffled hair and leaned back against a marble pillar. “So- what next?” 

“I’m afraid I have worse news, obtained while you were gone. The Order members are accusing  _ you _ of being the spy!”

“What!?” The hero exclaimed, about to refute the sheer notion when she paused. “Actually… that’s a totally rational rationale to have, when I think about it. I mean, I just showed up, stabbed some guys, and-”

“No, that’s not their reasoning. Go seek out more spies, or even recruits if you have too, and find out who exactly is behind this!”

  
  
  
  


Exactly ten Legion corpses later, and she had her answer.

_ Adventus.  _

 


End file.
